


Mad Science

by queerlittlething (thezerocard)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Asexual Character, F/F, For Science!, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other, POV Outsider, Polyamory, Team Dynamics, Weird Biology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-22 00:43:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thezerocard/pseuds/queerlittlething
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie joined Carlos' team hoping to gain some practical experience, contribute to his field, maybe get a paper published.</p>
<p>He definitely wasn't expecting...well...Night Vale.</p>
<p>(A series of vignettes about everyone's favorite scientific researchers and their handsome leader.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally titled "scientists being dorks." I think that says just about everything, really.
> 
> Find me on tumblr as queerlittlething!
> 
> The first chapter of this fic is now available as podfic, read the very talented maybeapples, [ here. ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1117007)

     Carlos’ team of scientists all have three things in common. They are young, without any particular renown in their fields; they are both highly intelligent and highly competent; and they are completely bereft of any social ties which would keep them from moving into the desert for an indeterminate amount of time to do science at an undisclosed location.

     Essentially, they’re a well-trained, well-funded, enthusiastic group of dorks with no social skills whatsoever. But somehow they survive.

* * *

     Carlos...isn't what Charlie expected. He's not sure what, exactly, he was expecting, but it definitely wasn't this man, who looks less like a scientist and more like the male model who plays one on television. Carlos of the romance-novel hair and astonishingly charming smile, who wears a lab coat better than anyone Charlie has ever met. Their introduction goes something like this:

            **Carlos** : Hello there. I'm Dr. Martinez, but you can call me Carlos. I'm your team leader for this project.

            **Charlie** : Naaarglfurp. Hair.

            **Carlos** : I'm sorry?

            **Charlie** :  Your...I'm..I'm Charlie. Hello. Evolutionary biology.

     And then he promptly ducked behind the mass spectrometer and beat his fist quietly against his forehead while Carlos introduced himself to the rest of the team. (Linnet told him, afterward, that he is not the only one to be impressed by Carlos upon meeting him-- he is simply the only one to lose his speech facilities upon doing so. It wasn’t entirely reassuring.)

     As a result of this, Charlie spends most of the prep week trying to say as few stupid things as possible, which mostly results in his being silent unless absolutely necessary. His co-workers aren’t entirely chatty either-- at first he thinks it is pure professionalism, a little intimidated, but later he comes to realize that they were all just as uncomfortable, sticking to safe conversational topics or intimidated by eye contact.

     Of course, that all changes when they leave for Night Vale. There are few things that bond people together like a pants-wettingly turbulent plane ride to the middle of nowhere spent wearing a blindfold and nose plugs.

* * *

      None of the radios they brought with them function in Night Vale. All the other electronics seem to be unaffected, even the cell phones, though the dial tones have been replaced with an ominous growling, and sometimes they scream like small children for no particular reason. But the radios-- they don’t even pick up static. No amount of volume-changing or fresh batteries will change that, much to the frustration of Klaus, who Charlie learns has built multiple radios from scratch.

     So they buy a radio. It doesn’t...well, it’s nothing Charlie would have been able to recognize as a radio, but the older gentleman in the shop was very helpful, and so was the sentient tumor that occasionally commented from his left shoulder. Apparently the squishy purple bit is the receiver. Charlie just hopes they never have to adjust the antenna.

     But for the most part, they never even change the station. Soft electric polka takes up most of the daytime programming, and around sunset-- or the time sunset should be-- they all grab their mugs of too-strong coffee or milky tea and gather around the set, listening to the voice of Night Vale narrate the day’s happenings.

     (The first time Cecil sighs _Carloooos_ , all smooth voice and teenaged longing, the scientists turn in unison to look at anything but their fearless leader, whose head seems to be trying to retreat into his shoulders.)

* * *

     There’s a house that doesn’t exist. It looks nearly identical to the houses on either side of it and it also, Charlie notes, looks almost exactly like the house in which he grew up. He doesn’t mention that to the others, though. There’s weird and then there’s _weird_.

* * *

     They started out with a group of almost twenty young and promising scientists from a variety of disciplines. There are nine of them left three months later, and Charlie thinks that they’re the ones who are going to stay. They lost quite a few of their fellows that first week-- one intrepid explorer into the Dog Park; a couple more into the gaping voids which appeared in the middle of Main Street one Wednesday (apparently this could have been avoided if they’d paid more attention to the traffic report); three lost to toaster fires, and the last permanently bonded with the statue of a fountain in one of the parks. The deaths and disappearances came more slowly after that, all of them navigating this foreign world with a learned caution. (They went out for drinks a week in, and Charlie found that once inebriated he could do nothing but babble about Darwinism and survival of the fittest. Pooja, the plump and cheerful biomolecular engineer, matched him joke for morbid joke. They’re good friends now.)

     The disappearances that came after that were different. If the first batch were lost to the peril of not knowing enough, the latter knew too much-- those taken in the night by the Sheriff’s Secret Police, or fled into the desert, unable to cope with the knowledge that the laws of the universe were not, in fact, laws; or perhaps that Night Vale did not come under their jurisdiction. Those were rougher. They knew each other, by then.

     So now nine remain. They are all affected by this place, one way or another. Night Vale takes its toll. He’s seen Carlos some mornings, with bags under his eyes and stopwatch in hand, staring intently at the sun as it crests above the horizon. Klaus vanishes into the desert every few days to tenderly embrace a particular cactus. Linnet has become completely nocturnal and hisses at strangers (though, come to think of it, that might just be her). Eve clanks with the weaponry strapped underneath her lab coat.

     As for Charlie himself, he shuts down, sometimes.

* * *

     Charlie sits down in front of his webcam, signs “Diary, Day 34,” then lets his hands hang for a while as he stares blankly into the screen. Eventually, he tries, “Today, a thing--” then stops. “Today--” No. He stops himself from spelling Grove Park, or shaping the thing he cannot see and could not possibly describe, then sighs and turns the camera off.

* * *

      They get to know one another, bonding with incredulous exclamations of, “Would you come take a look at this!” and frustrated curses. They establish protocols in case of spore outbreaks, lightning strikes, rains of domesticated animals, rains of wild animals, and fire. Their lab coats become progressively less white, criss-crossed with stitching like battle scars. They watch cheesy monster movies, at first with cheerful humor and later with poorly-concealed paranoia.

     They’re friends. It’s not so surprising, when Charlie thinks about it-- people develop relationships very quickly during wars or other traumatic situations, especially when they’re seeing each other day in and day out. It helps that they’re all, well, not similar people, but similar types of people. None of them were very popular in high school, for example. Not even Carlos. (Late bloomer, he’d muttered into his coffee when the subject came up, and they all made sympathetic noises.) But nobody’s the weird kid out when you’re all the weird kid. Or, more accurately, when the entire town outside your lab is the weird kid.

     It’s...well, it’s nice.

* * *

     The subject he’s currently examining is a woman, fifty-seven years old and in good health. She’s actually got very impressive musculature for a woman of her age, but he’s a lot more interested in the fully functional gills on either side of her ribcage.

     They were a door prize, apparently.

* * *

      One night they go out drinking with the interns from the radio station. They’re around the same age, after all, and though Carlos may be their official coordinator with Night Vale Radio, most of them have visited the station once or twice for some routine tests.

     (By general consensus, they don’t discuss the results of the routine tests.)

     Charlie takes the drink presented to him by one of the interns, a girl with electric blue hair which rises from her scalp like a bird’s crest. Her name, he thinks, is Janet, or Jenny, or possibly something far less mundane. She smiles at him shyly, and he looks down at his drink. It’s purple. And bubbling. And...moaning?

     “It’s Elderflower cordial,” she tells him, pronouncing the capital ‘E’ effortlessly. He nods, clears his throat.

     “Thank you! This is..I’m sure it tastes lovely. I’ll, um, try it in a little bit and then tell you. Later. How it is.” The moaning from his cup has gone from haunting to pornographic. His collar feels tight, constricting. He casts about for a suitable conversational topic.

     “Your...teeth! Those are, those are pretty something. Let me tell you.” And they are, actually. She has no canines or incisors, just flat molars all the way around. Jenny or possibly Janet smiles again, wider this time, and leans closer.

     “I’m a vegetarian,” she tells him, whispered like a secret.

     Five minutes of continuous babbling later, he can tell that she regrets letting him bring up herbivores.

* * *

      Charlie runs into an angel while out grocery shopping. At least, he’s pretty sure it’s an angel. It _is_ wearing a hand-knitted sweater with the letter E on it. And also he’d really like to think that something with claws like that is on the side of good.

* * *

      He watches his co-workers orbit each other. Linnet is clearly attracted to Florence, who remains oblivious in a way that is almost painful to watch. Pooja and Robin make excruciatingly brief eye contact across the lab and sit inches apart by the radio, courting in the cautious and circumspect way only humans ever seem to manage. Charlie is lucky enough to be present the night when Linnet finally snaps, reels Florence in by the collar, and makes out with him aggressively-- only to then do the same thing to John, and drag them both back to her room.

     Maybe he’s a little bit oblivious himself, because he definitely hadn’t seen that coming.

     (A few days later, when she saunters over during lunch and offers the same invitation, Charlie manages to stop gaping long enough to communicate that he’s not interested, thank you. Linnet raises her eyebrows and looks significantly over at Carlos, which-- no. Well, yes, but, no. “I’m asexual,” he clarifies, projecting a little for the Sheriff’s Secret Police, because if Cecil gets even a _whiff_ of-- no. God, no.)

* * *

     Night Vale is curiously accepting, once you get past the initial rush of horror and disbelief. There is literally nothing you can do which will be weirder than the town itself, which is astonishingly liberating. It’s almost impossible to be worried about your co-workers’ reaction to your sexuality  when a five-headed dragon is a mayoral candidate.

* * *

      The sky above is a black and empty void, and a crow-- or something imitating a crow- is croaking harshly somewhere nearby. Charlie folds his hands behind his head and stretches a little, the blanket shifting underneath him.

     “I see...the sensation of hunger,” Eve says from his left. They’d planned on cloud watching, but the weather hadn’t permitted.

     “Very nice!” says Klaus, and Charlie can practically hear his blindingly white grin. The other man’s presence is a line of warmth along his right side.

     “I can see...hm. The womb,” Klaus decides. The croaking becomes choking noises, then stops abruptly. None of them turn to the sound. They know better.

     Charlie looks up into the vast, echoing absence. He raises a hand almost unconsciously, fingers curling, like a child reaching for its parent’s face.

     “I see...potential,” he says, and smiles.

 


	2. in transit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reaction to the events of Episode 29: Subway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is...somewhat self-indulgent, and not quite the same tone as the previous. But I liked all of the scientists so much that I couldn't stop at just Charlie.

            The thing is—she _liked_ the subway, back home. Eve understood that most people didn’t, that it was considered a necessary evil for living in the city, that it was slow and inefficient and, inevitably, smelly.

            But it was also…perfect, in a way. It was all of the good bits of people and none of the bad. It was being able to see the variety of humanity in all its wonder and not having to make small talk or even eye contact; it was going somewhere without having to drive a car or steer a bike or even _concentrate._ It was a place where headphones big enough to block out the world were okay, commonplace even, and where nobody touched anybody unless they absolutely had to. (Eve tried not to travel during rush hour.) It was a place where she could flap her hands all she wanted, or tap her heels _leftrightrightleft rightleftleftright_ in ever expanding sets, without anybody staring or asking stupid questions. Nobody asked questions on the subway at all.

            She missed it. Enough, even, to investigate a subway system which had appeared suddenly overnight, which might be fundamentally altering DNA, and which had probably stolen away Intern Dylan forever.

            (Intern Dylan had, a few days ago at the now bi-weekly Intern/Scientist mixer, cornered her by the vending machines of the Desert Cactus Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex. “You know, there are things you can do for your little problem,” he’d said, not unkindly. He’d put a finger under her chin, raised it so that her eyes met his. “People you can talk to, and rituals, and stuff. We could fix you.”

            Eve was not going to miss Intern Dylan.)

            She walked towards the entrance slowly as the others watched from a safe distance, brandishing Geiger counters and barometers and recorders and anything else they thought might be useful, such as tasers. She slipped her headphones on. She touched, in turn, two ankle daggers, her sidearm, and the bandolier strapped across her chest under her labcoat. Then Eve walked down the stairs to the platform, which smelled of public transportation. It looked for the most part like every other underground station she had seen, except for the sign which ought to have had the station name, and instead displayed a row of smiling, eyeless faces. All seemed quite ordinary.

            And then…the train arrived.

* * *

            The morning before she went into the subway, she received a feeling. It came during her morning cup of green tea, and it was Performing A Trust Fall With A Stranger.

            She wondered, weeks later, if that wasn’t a bit prophetic. Not a warning, but a preview.

* * *

             Afterward, stylus hovering over a blank clay tablet, it seemed so impossible to describe. The report format which had seen her through houses that didn’t exist and increasingly complex mirages and tiny, impossible cities had finally failed her. There were no operational definitions for the sensation of time, slowed or completely absent; everything she wished to convey was vitally important and completely qualitative. She envied Carlos’ Cecil his ease with words. Listening to him talk about That Place on the radio was like hearing your own words repeated after a game of telephone—similar in sound, but still wrong. But at least he was speaking. At least he could try, within the limits of human speech, to convey what That Place had felt like, had been.

            It was…everyone. Everything. The sensation of pressure of people of a heartbeat, but not overwhelmingly so—normally crowds were her worst kind of fear, but in this one, every entity was every other entity, and so it was not a mob but an organism, a single pulsing organ.

            (Eve got halfway through writing “throbbing” and huffed, wiped her tablet clean, tapped her heel hard against the carpet.)

            She had cried, during that infinite, impossible moment. It felt like leaking joy. It was unnerving, to have such a simple, biological response to the wonder of that experience. She felt like she should have had something more to say. Something to whisper, in the heart of it all. Some sort of affirmative, a quote, a declaration, a battle cry—something true, like that place was true. Instead she had cried, and flapped her hands, and something had settled beneath her breastbone like a secret. Maybe that was the point. Maybe there wasn’t a point.

            Eve hesitated, then wrote: _I was. We were._

_And there was excellent service on all lines._

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Mad Science [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117007) by [maybeapples](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybeapples/pseuds/maybeapples)




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